


Descent To Disgrace

by NervousOtaku



Series: Neo-City Series [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Comfort, Longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousOtaku/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: Miss Atwood hears about her son.





	Descent To Disgrace

_The white flowers of a rowan tree were said to symbolize divinity._

The smell of blood and vomit had announced Sammy's arrival.

Instead of moving about the kitchen preparing tea and grabbing a snack, he had instantly stripped down, moving elsewhere in the house. She heard the laundry-machine start, followed by the shower turning on.

So he was a mess, this time.

It was also hours before evening. Miss Atwood had everything set up, but it was long before Sammy's usual time of arrival.

Standing up, she moved into the kitchen to prepare the tea herself. Maybe she should also make some sandwiches? Spoil him a bit, since whatever had happened was apparently... intense.

Sammy was leaving the shower right as she finished preparing everything, putting his piercings back in and wearing clothes pilfered from Rowan's room. They were too big, hanging loosely on his shoulders and hips. Rowan was taller and broader than Sammy. Not quite enough to make him swim in the clothes, but enough to make it obvious that those weren't his.

Miss Atwood brought out the plate holding their tea and the sandwiches. He didn't respond, sprawled across the couch. He only moved when she went to sit in her chair, making room for her on the couch.

“Sammy...” she murmured, uncertain of what to do.

“I saw Rowan today. Actually saw him, up close and everything.”

She faltered.

Was that...?

“The blood wasn't his,” he assured her, sitting up with a groan and reaching for his own tea, “The puke was, but the blood wasn't.”

“Oh... I see...”

Sammy shifted, carefully laying his head on Miss Atwood's shoulder. “I noticed that his old team was acting shifty. When they ditched right before the parade started, I followed them... and they led me right to him.”

Miss Atwood put her tea down, folding her hands in her lap.

After a moment, Sammy did similar, moving his hand to place over hers.

“They were going to execute him. I imagine they had some grand speech planned out or something. I didn't let them give it. Killed them first.”

He popped his lips, using his free hand to make a slashing motion across his throat.

“... And Rowan?” she asked.

“I beat him up a bit. Made him puke. Healed him some. Got him to shoot someone for me.”

Miss Atwood tilted her head in confusion.

Sammy chuckled darkly. His hand suddenly tightened on her wrist.

“They were watching my health and shit, so they knew I was seeing someone. They wanted to take you from here.”

“Sammy, careful...” she murmured, wincing a little. He was much stronger than her, much stronger than just about anyone, his grip was getting painful...

“You don't belong in that city, you belong out here, in your home. I won't let anyone take you from here, I'd rather kill you—”

“Sammy!” she yelled, feeling the bones in her wrist creak dangerously.

The effect was instant.

Before she had even stopped yelling, he had let go of her, springing up and away, cowering in the corner.

Cowering.

Miss Atwood stood, murmuring, “Sammy...”

He was staring at his hands. There was a chance he hadn't even noticed he was holding onto her. He tended to do things like that, move without thinking. He didn't fidget or tap his toes or fingers, but touched or held. He always wanted to be close, holding onto shirts, skirts, or fingers.

Sammy wasn't raised with a mother or a father. He was brought up in a lab, treated like a product, with a corpse for a father and a mother more than absent.

Did she really have any place to yell at him when he held on like that?

Before she could say anything else, he spoke up, saying, “He stank.”

“What...?”

“Rowan. He stank. Back when he was... here, at the company, he didn't smell like anything. That standard-issue antibacterial soap they use makes everything smell the same. But Rowan... when I saw him today, he... he smelled like dirt, sweat, metal, and cheap cigarettes. It was really kinda gross, and I know he probably hadn't bathed in... a while, but... but I liked it.” Sammy explained, head bowed as he balled his hands up into fists.

Her knees were starting to hurt. She needed to sit.

Groaning, Miss Atwood returned to her seat on the couch. That prompted Sammy to look up. Slowly, he came back to the couch as well. He didn't sit close to her, this time, perched on the other end as he pulled the plate of sandwiches closer.

After a moment, he continued talking.

“Whenever I'm not here, or with one of you, it burns. I'm upset, and everything feels wrong. I get angrier faster and I don't care about anything. I don't know why that is, and it drives me insane, but it is. The idea... of anything happening to either of you... really pisses me off, and I can't help but act. I hate everyone. People are annoying. But you and Rowan are different, and I don't know why that is. I just...”

He trailed off, picking up one of the sandwiches and eating it.

Miss Atwood sighed softly, reaching out to touch his thigh. He flinched away, not letting her. She sighed again, retracting her hand and picking up her tea instead.

“I...”

She looked up at him.

He sighed.

“Rowan says he loves you. He loves you and he's sorry.”

Miss Atwood didn't say anything, looking away as she sipped at her tea.

She knew.

Oh, she knew. It wasn't just Rowan.

_The white flowers of a rowan tree were said to symbolize divinity._


End file.
